


Damned If You Do

by EreshkigalIrkalla



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Demons, Hell, Other, Violence, damnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EreshkigalIrkalla/pseuds/EreshkigalIrkalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing nine hundred and ninety-nine people doesn't exactly buy you a ticket to heaven. Welcome to eternity, Eric Slingby! Although it may not be quite what you expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned If You Do

            “Oh my, isn’t this _cute_?”

 

            His first thoughts are panicked and nonsensical. He has entered a world that completely defies all that is right and ordered. He cannot fully grasp the idea of it yet, but it is vast and inescapable. Here is a place that he would never have wanted to see. Here is a place that simply disregards the rules set out for it at creation and goes about making its own. Here is a place where darkness is the _something_ and light is the bit left behind (He cannot really make this thought work, he has never cared much for the science of physics, but feels that as it is it conveys his feelings well enough for the moment).

 

            All of this and he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet.

           

            He can sense the immense darkness even behind his closed eyelids. He is weak and sprawled across a cold, hard surface, and there is an incredible weight on his back, pressing down upon him. His thoughts swirling madly, impossible to contain. He has no idea where he might be, almost no of idea of who he is, all he has to cling to is the familiar sound of a very _unfamiliar_ voice.

           

            He steels himself, opens his eyes, and sees a mass of long, thick black hair pooling around someone’s ankles. Slowly, cautiously, he looks up.

 

            Before him stands a woman.

 

            Truth be told, he isn’t certain if he can really call the thing in front of him a woman. It looks like a women, has all the right bits and bobs to be a woman, but there is something incredibly wrong. Its skin is white as bleached bone, its figure cartoonishly out of proportion, limbs long, and hands clawed. It has talons for feet, a long, black, pronged tail, two small onyx horns jutting out just behind its hairline, and immense, black wings that dwarf its entire body. Its eyes are enormous and red, taking up entirely too much of its face, pupils slit like those of a snake. Absolutely everything about this creature is purely predatory. It is as if someone has taken a human and twisted it, mixed it together with something wild, added just enough to beast to make it truly terrifying. Beautiful and terrifying.

           

            And as he stares, it suddenly occurs to him that he is not wearing his glasses.

 

            “I’ll take the staring as a compliment, darling.”

           

            And it also occurs to him that he is not wearing any clothing.

 

            Then again, neither is the she-demon, but nevertheless she looks more powerful in her nakedness than any king wearing only the finest silks and jewels could ever hope to.

  

            It is obvious that he is looking at a demon, but never before has he seen one look quite like this. Usually there is something off about them. No matter what form they take, there is always something about them that doesn’t quite fit in with the surrounding world. But this time it is different. Never before has he seen a demon fit so comfortably into its environment, and this more than anything else this makes him uneasy.

           

                       Oh no.

 

            It does not come as a shock or surprise, because honestly he had resigned himself to this fate from the moment his hopeless quest began, but the very reality of being _here_ chills him to the bone.

           

            Alan falling dead with one stroke.

 

            A demon’s smug face.

 

            Bright and flashing pain through his chest.

           

            Oh yes, he knows perfectly well who he is, he knows perfectly well _where_ he is.

           

            This is Hell.

 

            Slowly, sluggishly, the logical part of his mind kicks back in. It is muddled and confused, but at least it is still there and, he hopes, still whole.

           

            His knowledge of hell might be limited, but this doesn’t seem right. Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of process to this whole thing?

           

            Yes!

           

            Wasn’t there some sort of judgment? Some sort of… Journey? A river? Yes! That was it.

           

            He knows perfectly well the acts that damned him to this place, but he does not recall either judgment, nor any sort of river.

           

            “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Normally sinners cross the river and then we send them off to Minos, but given that we don’t often get your kind down here, I thought I would come and take a look.” The demoness gazes down at him, casual and almost amused.

 

            “I’m flattered.”

 

            “As well you should be, darling. Besides, you died at the hand of my son, how could I resist?”

 

            “Your son.”

 

            “Yes. Well, one of them, anyway. I have over three million children.”

 

            Three million..?

 

            Of course.

            

            “Then, you are-”

 

            “Yes! Very good. Blondie’s quick on the uptake, isn’t he?”

 

            He can remember so many names.

 

            Princess of Darkness.

 

            Theory classes covered all sorts of demons, but information on this particular specimen was sparse.            

 

            Queen of Hell.

 

            Not to say that she was powerless or lesser-known, quite the opposite, in fact.

 

            Queen of the Succubi.

 

            Equal in power to Lucifer himself, the first woman, she had rejected Eden in favour of the depths of the pit and demonic husbands.

 

            _Lilith_.

           

            “Aye,” he gives her a bitter smile, and in spite of his better judgment, (but honestly, who cares? It can’t get any worse now) replies,” You’re Satan’s whore.”

 

            She raises an eyebrow. “If you honestly think that you can insult me, then you’re much duller than I gave you credit for. However, if punishment is what you desire, I shall oblige.”

 

            She reaches out a talon and steps on his head, grinding his face into the rock beneath. There is no getting out of it, it is like having a lead weight pressing down upon your head, ignoring the fact that a Reaper could easily have lifted a lead weight. She scrapes his face along the ground and he can feel the skin peeling off, the flesh parting, his cheekbones and jaw grinding against the stone. The incredible, unbearable _pain_. Hell can tear through him as easily as a scythe does mortal flesh. _Fight it!_ Say nothing, don’t give her the satisfaction.

          

           She finally lets up, and it occurs to him that for the first time he isn’t certain if his wounds are going to heal.

 

            “Satisfied, Mr. Slingby?”

 

            “ _Demon_.” The same thing he had said to the butler. Brilliant, Eric. Top-notch comeback, that.

 

            “Oh, come now, I didn’t press _that_ hard. Surely you can come up with something better.” She gives him a small smile, shrugs. She honestly didn’t care, did she? That insult meant nothing to her.

 

            “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

           

            He looks her right in the eye, raises his eyebrows “We do?”

 

            “And now he decides to play dumb. Come now, no need to be so bitter just because you lost. You would have ended up here in the end anyway, succeed or fail.” He loses sight of her for a moment as she steps to the side, walking around and around, circling him like a giant bird of prey.

 

            “One soul for the price of a thousand. Or should I say, nine hundred and ninety-nine for a _spectacularly_ ironic failure! I must say, I haven’t laughed quite that hard in a long time, it was so…. _Delicious_.”

 

            “Trying to provoke me, “your highness”?”

 

            “Nine hundred and ninety-nine women. And not even women like me, oh no, women of light, and purity, naïveté and weakness. Women of Eve on earth. How very brave you were, such a gallant knight! Off he rides on his noble steed, swinging his scythe like a sword to protect his fair love. Such a brave and courageous man, he rides and he rides, slaying only the _weakest_ of prey. What a _hero_.”

 

            She is still circling.

 

            “And for what? Nine hundred and ninety-nine innocent women, for complete and utter _worthlessness_.” She chuckles softly.

 

 _“Pathetic_. Nine-hundred and ninety-nine women for absolutely nothing, and _no one_ at all.”

 

            She has stopped pacing. She stands before him once more, angry smirk upon her white face, red eyes glowing brightly in the darkness.”

 

            She wants a response? Fine, she’ll get it.

 

            He raises his head and looks her right in the face with as much dignity as he can muster.

 

            “Alan is not ‘no one’.”

 

            She gazes at him silently, smirk growing ever so slowly wider.

 

            “ _HAH!”_ It comes out as a shriek, he jumps in surprise, his ears ringing, his whole body jerking in pain from the sheer pitch of that unearthly noise.

           

            In one swift movement, she bends down and grabs his hair up in one spidery hand, claws digging into his skin. He is fairly certain that his scalp is about to disconnect from the rest of his head.

           

            “ _Alan_. Alan, Alan, _Alan_. The name you used to justify it all. _Alan_ , your lover, _Alan_ , doomed to a death he did not deserve, _Alan_ , sick and getting weaker by the day, _Alan_ , already resigned to his fate. I am surprised that you would besmirch the name of one you claimed to love so dearly in the name of your own perverted selfishness.”

 

            The claws have pierced the skin, hell, probably pierced his skull. He struggles, pulls back as hard as he can.

           

            Her grip is too strong. “Please, you didn’t do any of this for Alan. Every last life you took was for you.” She releases him, finally, and his head hits the ground with a thud. She stands again, and all he can see are her clawed feet.

 

            “And _speaking_ of Alan!”

 

            She kicks at him, swift and smooth, and all at once he feels the weight lift from his back.

            “My, my. Sweet little thing, isn’t he?”

 

            Something hits the ground beside him and he is afraid to look, can’t look, _has_ to look. So he does, and beside him is Alan’s face.

           

            The demoness lets out a chuckle. “Adorable, isn’t it? Look at that, he followed you down.”

 

            And that is when what is left of Eric Slingby breaks.

           

            If his thoughts were nonsensical before they are gone now, replaced with sheer horror and desperation. He is certain that he is screaming, but uncertain of what it is, he cannot tell if he is crying or begging for forgiveness, and he cannot make the screaming end, it just _doesn’t_ end, and how Alan must hate him now, because there is Alan and he _will not answer_ , will not even open his eyes.

 

            “Oh, stop that right now. How incredibly dramatic.” He could have sworn that she rolled her eyes at him. “He’s perfectly alright. Aside, of course, from the fact that he’s dead. He’s not _angry_ with you boy, he’s not even conscious.”

 

            “What’s wrong with him?”

 

            “There’s nothing wrong with him. I could wake him up now if I liked. It’s... Shall we call it a mercy? Given that damnation wasn’t his fate.”

 

            “It wasn’t?” It comes out quietly and choked. God, he sounds like a mouse.

 

            “There really isn’t any reason for him to be here, aside from you. Believe me, and I would know, that boy is practically a _saint_.”

 

            She grins, and he can see her teeth, slim and sharp. The thought occurs to him that as menacing as Sutcliff’s teeth are, they are set up in such a way that if they passed through flesh, one might not at first even feel it. Lilith’s are different. The angle, the placement... They are perfectly arranged so as to cause the maximum amount of pain possible should she choose to bite you.

 

            He couldn’t win this.

 

            He couldn’t even fight it.

 

            “Oh, come now, there’s no reason to be so melancholy. It’s true, he came here of his own free will, he is tied to you. But he has done nothing wrong.”

 

            She eyes him closely for a moment, lips curved into a rather evil-looking smile.

 

            “So you’re saying-”

 

            “What I’m _saying_ is,” She leans in close and whispers the next bit in his ear.

 

            “He doesn’t have to wake up.”

 

            She straightens, looks down at him.

 

            “He need never know where he is.”

 

            Eric’s heart leaps. Or at least, he had thought it had. It probably wasn’t even beating, was it?

 

            “And?”

 

            “And what?”

 

            “What do you want? I know your kind. You don’t do anything for free.”

 

            “Clever boy! They _do_ still teach you. I was beginning to wonder.” She smiles again. “One of _your kind_ is rare you know, and can be very valuable, even dead. I’ll tell you what, you agree to follow my orders, precisely when, and precisely in the manner in which I give them, and the saint-” She jerks a thumb in Alan’s direction. “need never wake. So, what do you say?”

 

            She crouches down again, her face just above his, and grins once more.

 

            “Do we have a deal?"

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for sending Eric and Alan to hell, please forgive me.
> 
> I am not too certain of the title I chose. I may change it later if I can think of something better.
> 
> And yes! Lilith is a real demon. Well, as real as a mythological creature can be. According to Hebrew myth, Lilith was the first wife of Adam who fled the Garden of Eden when he claimed that, as a man, he was superior to her. She later found and mated with males who had no trouble recognizing her equality, in this case, the fallen who had rebelled against God. She became the mother of countless demons, and is essentially the queen of hell. It has always been my head-canon that she is likely Sebastian’s mother.
> 
> Thank you keyboardclicks and cathousemary for their help, because I clearly have absolutely no idea what I am doing.


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